Flirting With Disaster
by xxDodo
Summary: It was supposed to be a brotherly bonding thing. Racing, breaking speed limits, in his Impala with his brother in the passenger seat. Dean wasn't supposed to have been holding his brother's bleeding body, wasn't supposed to have to deal with supernatural threats when all he wanted was a night off. Pre-series; hurt!Sammy, pissed!protective!Deano and John.
1. Pedal to the Floor

**Flirting With Disaster**

* * *

_~ I'm travelin' down the road and I'm flirtin' with disaster  
I've got the pedal to the floor and my life is running faster ~_

* * *

**Chapter One: Pedal to the Floor  
**

"Dad's gonna kill you."

Dean Winchester ignored his brother, a grin firmly in place. He should care, he reflected. He really should, considering how pissed his father would get. But at that moment – leaning against his car, anticipation of the race to come coursing through him – the annoyance of his pessimistic little brother and the wrath of John Winchester were not enough to get him worried.

Yet.

A loud bout of cursing and whooping a few yards to Dean's right caught his attention. His grin grew, if possible, even wider as he took in the manly carefree nature of those around him. These were his _people. _And Sam, still a lanky teen with what Dean thought to be an unnaturally greater interest in school than girls, couldn't see the appeal.

The men who'd caused the nearby commotion were leaning against a souped up monster truck, it's hood propped up as the owner – a leather clad and bandana-wearing man – showed off its engine. The noise had come, judging from the furious look on the owner's face and reputation of the drag racing pool, from a sneering insult to the car.

And, Dean thought as he patted the roof of his own Impala, _no one_ insulted a man's car.

He heard Sam's snort behind him, along with a muttered comment that sounded suspiciously like "Neanderthals."

Then, raising his voice, Sam said, "Dean, I'm serious. Dad is going to _kill _you."

"Shut up, Sammy," Dean said easily, scanning the scattered groups of people in case someone noticed the unfamiliar black Chevy among their ranks. Dean didn't see anything wrong with a little manly banter about his baby. After all, she was going to kick all these other muscle car's ass. Bumper. Whatever.

_Drag racing_, Dean thought with a feeling that could only be described as pure glee. _Hell yes._

* * *

Sam perched on the hood of the Impala and Dean ran his hands over his car one last time, eyes alight with the excitement and adrenaline of the race to come. Sam had to admit it was rare to see his brother so _happy _about something, the closest feeling Dean'd had to it any time was probably when Dad took him on hunts. And damn if Sam didn't have some thoughts on _that _twisted logic.

But watching his brother right now, seeming at home with his car that had been his pride and joy for the last year – Dean's euphoria at John's gift had actually brought a smile to the old man's face – and getting ready to kick some ass – supernatural or not – and Sam couldn't help but smirk right along with him.

"Check it out, Dean," Sam said, nodding towards the car a few yards away from them that they would be racing. It was the same car that had caused a commotion before, except the people surrounding it now looked a helluva lot more intimidating. Nothing compared to his big brother, Sam thought with some pride, but mean all the same.

Dean scoffed. "Piece of _junk_," he said breezily, not caring if anyone heard, because that was Dean. Sam was still grateful that the engines and whoops of the crows were so loud though.

"Ready, Sammy?" Dean asked, patting the roof one more time with a grin and sliding into the car through the window, his more lean than muscular frame fitting in easily.

Sam wanted to try it of course, but he figured with his lanky limbs and damned clumsiness of puberty he'd probably just end up embarrassing himself. He settled for the door.

"Bring it," he said as he sat down.

Dean glanced at him for a second, eyes suddenly uncertain. Sam knew without asking that it was because big brother instincts were kicking in through the high and saying _'why the hell are you letting Sammy do this?'_

Sam squashed the doubt immediately. "I'm coming, man, I'm serious. I'm covering your ass for Dad, aren't I?" Dean hesitated a moment, and Sam continued, "No way you're leaving me behind, Dean. It's a freaking _drag race_, dude!"

Dean's mouth twitched, eyes facing front again as he nodded heartily. "Hell yeah, Sammy," he agreed. "Just...don't go flying through the windshield or anything, alright princess?"

"If you got seat belts in this thing I wouldn't," Sam countered, leaning his arm on the open window, trying to look like he actually belonged.

"Seat belts are for losers," Dean said immediately. "Besides, I'm an awesome driver."

Sam smiled a little. "Yeah, I know."

A loud chorus of _'good-luck' _and _'kick the kid's ass' _alerted the brothers to the starting of the race, and a smaller man with two flags took his position front and center to the two vehicles. Dean looked over to his opponent, the bandana-clad man studying him at the same time. Dean smirked and tilted his head up in acknowledgment. Bandana-guy just put up a finger.

Sam snorted and Dean leaned back and clenched the gear shift and steering wheel, eyes intent on the track ahead of him.

The flags flew through the air and the two cars were off.

It was clear that Bandana-guy was underestimating this barely-adult that he was racing against. Dean would get ahead for a few seconds, before the monster truck choked loudly and zoomed ahead once more, puffing from its gas-guzzling characteristic.

Dean scowled at the back of the truck. "We can beat that uglyass piece of shit, girl," Dean said determinedly, pressing down harder on the accelerator.

Sam had one hand steadying himself against the dashboard, the other fisted at his side. They were going goddamn _fast_, he thought with some shock. He was almost afraid to look at the speedometer, but he didn't have to in order to recognize Dean burning the rubber on his tires and the incredible air pressure flying past his ears and catching his breath.

Exhilarating, Sam thought. Not to mention _terrifying_.

Dean, however, didn't seem to notice the dangerous scenarios running through his brother's head almost as fast as the car was going. Sam knew about steering wheels locking on drivers, brakes malfunctioning...had Dean remembered to check the brakes? Christ, at the rate they were going then, Sam wasn't sure if Dean was still aware that the Impala _had _brakes.

Dean, ever in-tune with his brother, spared Sam a grinning look before moving one hand to flex on the gearshift.

"Dude, calm down. And watch this," he said wickedly, eyes flashing in the headlight's shadows.

With a swift movement and slamming pressure on the accelerator, Dean gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands and jerked it to the left just before the two cars reached the final right turn. Zooming fast around the outside of the monster truck, Dean looped around the other car and, by the time the turn was complete, the classic black Chevy was in the lead.

"_Whoa_," was all Sam was able to manage as he held on for dear life, even as he shouted when the finishing flags were spotted several yards away.

Dean pushed the gas pedal, if possible, even harder, and the Impala crossed the finish line in first.

Dean swept the Impala in a half-circle, laughing and swearing right along with Sam as the adrenaline pulsed through them. The monster truck pulled up next to them a second later, twice the size of the little car and looking pretty intimidating for the losing ride.

Bandana-guy didn't look happy at all, Sam thought, his grin wavering just slightly at the furious look on the guy's face. But Dean's triumphant laughter sounded next to him and Sam told himself to stop being such a timid girl.

"Hey kid," the driver said, "one more lap. Whadaya say?" He twirled a finger around in the air to encompass the track.

Dean grinned, leaning across Sammy slightly to raise his eyebrows at the older man. "I say that the first ass-kicking wasn't just my luck."

Bandana-guy gave a humorless smirk, narrowing his eyes slightly. He flicked his cigarette butt to the ground, gunned his engine, gave Dean the finger, and stepped on the gas. The crowd of bikers and punks watching clapped with approval. Dean may have won, but he was still the newbie.

Dean pulled back immediately and hastened to press down hard on the pedal, the Impala roaring to respond underneath him and speeding to catch up. Sam didn't grip the dashboard this time, feeling the same adrenaline Dean had had this whole time and a laugh fell from his mouth and caught in the air flying past them through the window. Dean concentrated on the road even as he grinned, confidence oozing out of him as the Impala tailed the truck.

Dean twisted the wheel to the right in an opposite direction but still repeat move of before, grip deathly tight as he controlled the steering wheel. Sam had his eyes on any strategic routes Dean could take, while the elder Winchester brother relied purely on instinct.

That instinct was what caused his eyes to widen and feet to shift pedals at the speed of light so slam on the brakes as the truck suddenly slowed down and Dean nearly rear-ended it hard. Just as suddenly though, the truck switched gears and plowed forward again. As soon as Dean got close the second time, the driver did the same thing, Dean reacting with a split-second to spare.

"The hell is he doing?" Dean growled, eyes narrowed and one hand remaining on the gear shift as his whole body stayed tense. Sam glanced from his brother to the vehicle in front of them, slightly uncertain.

"Go to his left," Sam suggested, glancing over to where there was a fence now barring the road.

"Are you nuts?" Dean snapped. "I'll be trapped by the fence!"

Sam flushed slightly, but defended himself, "You can't go any other way, Dean!"

The elder brother hesitated, face set in concentration as he tried to maneuver around the large truck, but every time he tried the driver would pull the same stopping trick and Dean swore loudly as his other hand flew to help grip the steering wheel in place. Dean glanced to the left, where there was enough room between the truck and the fence that, if he went fast enough, the car could squeeze ahead.

Making the decision, Dean slowed down slightly and turned the steering wheel carefully, not wanting to tip of Bandana-guy just yet. Then, he switched a gear and pushed his car forward quickly, positioning himself between the truck and the fence but slightly ahead of Bandana-guy's ride. Grinning, Dean reached for the gearshift again, and Sam looked over to match his brother's smile. It froze on his face suddenly as he took in the sight of the massive monster truck bearing down on them sideways.

"_DEAN!" _Sam was barely able to shout before a blinding pain shot through his head where it had smacked against the door and headrest.

He heard his brother's swearing echoing through his pounding head, could feel the panic coming off of Dean like it was a wave. Then, while his vision was still blurry, Sam made out Dean's wide-eyed face as he grappled with the out-of control steering just as the monster truck rammed into the significantly smaller Chevy a second, much more forcible time.

Sam knew no more as his body seemed to fly in the air for a second, having a sickening impact and slumping against the overturned Impala's side.

Dean, having fought until the last millisecond to gain control back over his car, remained conscious yet trapped under the wreckage and feeling like absolute shit. His body jarred with every movement, and he could do nothing but lie there for several agonizing seconds before the one thought that could snap out of anything filtered through the pain.

_Sam's hurt. Sam's hurt, oh god _Sam_._

"Sammy," Dean tried, but it came out as a hoarse croak, and there was no answer either. The shocked voices of people surrounding the accident reached Dean's ears, and spurred him into moving. Sam was his number one priority, get Sam safe. _Safe._

"_Sam!" _Dean managed to shout, fighting his way out from under the broken door of his precious car.

He tumbled out onto the asphalt of the track, only a few feet away from the nearest spectator. No one made a move to help him as he dragged himself to a standing position against his overturned car, squinting around desperately for his brother.

Dean didn't the sight he saw would ever leave him.

A strangled, choking sound escaped his mouth, and he forgot about his physical pain for a minute as he practically dove over to where Sammy was slumped, bleeding and bruised and _torn up_.

"_Sam," _Dean forced out, scanning his brother with desperate hands and horrified eyes at the sight of Sam so broken and limp. Dean forced himself to press two fingers to the kid's neck, feeling grateful, so so grateful when he felt a pulse and saw Sam's shallow, strained breathing.

Dean felt the blood pooling against his side, and he looked down to see the injury clearly. Bile rose in his throat as Dean took in the sight of the ripped, shredded skin through Sam's tattered shirt. It was flowing blood, and as Dean glanced up he saw pieces of Sam's shirt hanging off broken chain links of the barbed fence.

Impaled in the fence. Dean thought he might be sick. It was a miracle Sam was even _alive _and God _what had he been thinking?_

"Sammy," Dean said again, could only think to say his brother's name in the past few minutes. "Sammy, come on bro, you gotta wake up."

There was no answer as Dean all but tore off his outer shirt, ignoring the flare of pain in his shoulder and pressing down _hard _on the wound in Sam's side.

His brother's face didn't even twitch.

_Infection, there's going to be infection, and shit I can't even move him. Concussion, bad concussion, shitshitshit..._

_He did this_.

The thought hit the nineteen-year-old with a staggering force of fury.

Dean stood up and his hand went inside jacket in a movement so smooth the people closest to him almost backed up in surprise. But the Winchester had his sight set on the monster truck several yards away, it's engine still running and driver still inside. As Dean watched, the vehicle _vroom_-ed a few times, then sped away, the sound of the engine and smell of burning rubber and feel of _his brother's blood _making his vision blur and start to tint red.

It was only the sound of sirens in the distance that urged him not to follow and commit murder when good samaritans were headed his way. Someone had called 911, and on that realization practically the whole lot of people scrambled to leave the area. As if Dean needed another blow to his stomach for why he_ shouldn't have brought Sammy here. Stupidstupidstupid..._

One person stepped towards the brother – probably who called the ambulance, being one of the only people there that didn't have a fear of the cops - but the heated glare, the raw fury at the truck owner and this place and _himself_ reflected in the look, and the guy backed up quickly to get the hell out of Dodge.

And Dean crouched there beside his brother in the shadowed moonlight, supporting his head once more and pressing his hand against the would in Sam's side. The only sound in the deserted lot came from the fast-nearing wails of sirens. Dean was barely aware of himself saying aloud as the deafening noise was almost upon them, "Come on, Sammy. I gotcha, just wake up, bro...wake up."

* * *

**A/N:-** Well, hey! *blinks innocently* What cliffy? No idea what you mean, really.

*grins* _Drag-racing, guys! _Isn't that so cool? Dangerous as hell, but still! Deano just kicks ass. But back to the story. This'll only be about three or four chapters, I'm thinking, depending on how bad off I wanna make Sammy's injuries *nods* Poor baby. And also on how much of an asshole John wants to be... But yeah, so, I'm calling upon the guilty-conscience-of-mine to pester me to finish this. Also agent iz hyper's poking (**iz- **yes, yes I _know_ the drag racing wasn't going to be in this story...heh, explaining to do, much?), your guys' _absolutely wonderful and extremely appreciated reviews_, and a helluva lot of gummy worms.

Because this is my first SPN chapter fic so I'm worried about myself. But it's the big three-oh in stories for me! Whoot *throws mini-party for self cuz I'm cool*

On an unrelated note, it is late as shit and I'm never gonna wake up for school tomorrow but that's okay. Because I finished this. And that makes falling asleep in math worth it. Right? Right.

Review, pleeeease :3

See ya soon.~  
Dodo.


	2. Heavy Thoughts

_**A/N:** *rushes in* Has it been a week already? And I'm updating _on time? _Just barely. Whoa. And damn guys, put a healthy dollop of Sammy-whump and Winchester angst and people and inboxes just implode! x) Seriously though, *happily shocked* you guys are **awesome**, and I love to answer your guys' great reviews :3 And if you're one of those people who only favorite and alert and I don't respond, thanks loads for reading this. Drop me a line, though, eh? ;)_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, nor any of the lyrics used in the beginning of chapters_

* * *

**Flirting With Disaster**

* * *

_~ Dreams of war, dreams of liars, dreams of dragon's fire,  
And of things that will bite ~_

* * *

**Chapter Two: Heavy Thoughts**

Dean hadn't let the paramedics take him in without a fight.

Being separated from his brother? After what had just happened? _Hell no._

The elder brother had completely ignored his injuries, his sole focus was and would stay Sam's recovery. The paramedics, however, fought right back to get Dean on a stretcher and away from Sam so they could do their job.

But Dean had a job too, and that was looking after his brother. Considering the gut-clenching failure in his duty that Dean was beating himself up over, there was no way he was going to have another reason for his father to be disappointed in him.

There was, after much hurried and heated arguing, a compromise, where Dean would ride in the ambulance with Sammy as long as he let himself get looked over. Still, Winchesters didn't _do _hospitals, or cops, or any authorities, and Dean had to fight every instinct ingrained in him to admit that this time, this wasn't something they could fix with an army med kit in a shitty motel room. Sam needed medical attention, and if Dean wanted his brother helped he'd have to sacrifice his pride and suspicious nature a bit. Book a hospital room and stay put with fake insurance until Sam recovered from Dean's mistake.

And Dean really didn't want to think what his father would have to say about that.

"Damn kids," Dean had sworn he heard a paramedic say as they'd started the ambulance moving. The Winchester's eyes had narrowed and he clenched his teeth, moving closer to Sam protectively and making a mental note of the blond-haired dickwad that was speaking.

"A drag racing ring? Really?"

"Relax, Bill," an older man had said sharply. "Do your goddamn job."

Dean had felt a twinge of satisfaction at the slightly guilty look on the blond's face. Now, though, the drive seemed like distant memory overshadowed by the activity at the hospital once they'd arrived. Sam had still been unconscious, and Dean had finally started to feel his injuries again even though he didn't break his silently glaring exterior. His shoulder was dislocated and he didn't think there was a place that he wasn't bruised. His knee felt kind of jacked up, too. But Dean felt incredibly lucky whenever he looked over at Sam. The kid had been impaled in _a goddamn fence..._

Dean had pulled out of those thoughts like he'd been doing for the past few hours now. After Sam had been forcibly separated from Dean with a flurry of nurses and exchanged words -

"_Deep puncture wound..."_

"_Lost a lot of blood, comatose risk..."_

"_Hit any organs?"_

"_Need him stable and prepped for surgery..."_

Dean had listened to all this with a wide-eyed, forced calm exterior even as he panicked inside. The nurses had held off insurance and personal information for the meantime, seeing as Dean was being forced into admission for his injuries as well. But when they'd come to tell him that Sam needed immediate surgery and Dean was old enough to give consent, it took a lot for the nineteen-year-old to keep himself in check.

Nobody would tell him how bad off Sam was, or what was going on in his surgery. No, because apparently when _you _were injured as well, the staff tended to put a greater emphasis on getting you stabilized before anything. Even if you couldn't care less about yourself when it came to putting your brother's safety first.

Despite knowing the storm that would come along, Dean had to admit that the sooner John got here, the better.

Dean blew out a loud breath in frustration. "Screw it," he muttered to himself, attempting to swing his legs over the side of the hospital bed he had been all but tied to.

His right arm was in a sling, and his face felt stiff from all the bruises even through the basic pain medication he'd received. His knee had yet to be wrapped or – as the nurse had speculated and Dean had denied – casted, but he wasn't about to wait around in a bland room meant for comfort when his brother could be _dying_.

His knee felt like the size of a bowling ball, but thanks to the medication the pain was a dull throb that Dean could more than handle at the moment. He pulled out his IV with worrying ease, even with his slinged arm, and rose slightly unsteadily to his feet. Dean worked to hide his limp as he moved to leave, and by the time he found the nurses' station on the floor he was on he didn't think anybody would be too suspicious.

There was middle-aged brunette in front of a computer that looked about as ancient as some of the nurses Dean had seen around – and really, he'd allowed himself to briefly disbelieve how there could be _no _hot nurses. She was on the phone and twirling a dry curl around her finger, and immediately Dean felt irritated that she could just sit there while people like him were beating themselves up over lack of information.

Dean tapped his hand on the desk and she glanced up with a slight sigh. Dean just met her with a tight smile, raising his eyebrows in a clear suggestion that she pay attention to what he had to say.

The woman rolled her eyes slightly, said a quick good-bye into the receiver, and straightened to speak with Dean.

"Yes?" she asked.

Dean didn't bother trying to flash her a grin or even a smooth greeting. He didn't know how much time had passed since they'd reached the hospital, and his list of priorities was pressing in on him fast, the most urgent one being _Sam_.

"Sam Winchester," Dean said, deciding that they'd just have to deal with the fact that Dean had been too screwed to recall any of their current insurance scams. "He went into surgery awhile ago."

The nurse just kept looking at him. "And you are?"

Dean fought the urge to shake the bored look off her face. "His brother," he growled out, making sure she knew that brother or father, he was responsible for Sammy.

She sighed as though Dean had asked her to do something painful and turned to the ancient computer, clicking several windows open as she searched for who Dean was looking for. As the Winchester watched with barely constrained exasperation, she turned next to the stack of files in front of her, flipping through them methodically until finally, _finally _she pulled one out, flipped through those papers, and paused at one to scan over the information.

The nurse – Linda, as Dean could now see her name-tag read – looked up at Dean again, assessing him critically. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen," Dean said, his teeth still gritted in an attempt to hold back his growing impatience. He was an adult, legally able to make decisions for himself and – in the absence of his father – his brother, and knowing Sam's current condition would be _Dean's_ fault, the teen wanted it clear that he had to handle his screw-up.

Dean didn't stop for a moment to think that he was being too hard on himself, didn't try to push off the blame at all, as though he deserved the self-inflicted guilt, was trying to accept it before his father spelled it out for him.

Linda looked back down at the file, reading off, "Sam Winchester, fourteen, car accident. Internal puncture wound, critical. Parental contact pending. Last status was in surgery." She met Dean's slightly shocked eyes. "No word yet."

Dean swallowed, finding his throat suddenly dry. _Critical_, he repeated to himself. _Still in surgery_. _Shit._

Dean just nodded to the nurse, who grunted and picked up the phone again, but Dean was already limping away. He tried to order his thoughts a few minutes later, stepping out of the elevator onto the first floor and maneuvering the sterilized hallways until he reached the main waiting room and hospital entrance beyond. He sank down into one of the chairs with a clear view of the area, noting in the back of his mind the two nurses at the front desk and the single woman flipping through a magazine across the room.

Dean, dropped his head in his free hand, massaging his temple as he thought. Sam was still in surgery then, and Dean wished he knew how much time had passed since they'd arrived. He glanced through the clear glass doors and saw that though it was still dark outside, the sky had the light tint of dawn coming around the corner. They'd been at the track before at around midnight. It could've been a good four hours that Sam was in the ER, and Dean's stomach clenched at that thought.

He'd given as much information to the staff as he could, and he'd said that his father was out of town and couldn't be reached, much to their disgruntlement. But now, Dean knew, was his chance to call his father and explain why the hell he and Sam hadn't been home when his father had come back from his hunt. Before one of the do-good nurses came looking for their patient.

Dean knew that it had probably been only an hour or so since his dad returned, but it was still enough time for shit to hit the fan. John hadn't gotten either of his sons cell phones even though he had one – money didn't grow on trees – but there was a payphone outside and even though every part of Dean's brain was telling him that he should call his father, the kid still didn't move.

Dean sagged slightly, as though the weight of the previous night got heavier upon his shoulders. He knew Sam would never let Dean blame himself so much, but then again Sam would do anything if it was the opposite of John. Dean scrubbed a hand down his face, feeling the ever-so-slight stubble on his chin and the ache behind his eyes as he'd crashed from the high of the race and adrenaline of worry and bustle of activity in the hospital.

The thought brought him back to the fact at hand that he'd checked himself out and someone might have noticed by now. Not that Dean would allow himself to be constricted to a hospital room again, but he needed to at least get his phone call to John off his back before dealing with the hospital issue.

With a sigh, Dean dragged himself to his feet, but his knee locked and he stumbled slightly, a throb shooting through the wearing-off pain medication. Dean steadied himself, moving forward hesitantly as he regained his balance, making it through the sliding doors and into the squared-off pay phone area.

He held the receiver in one hand and dialed his dad's number with the same, holding his sling close to his body and absently looking forward to when the damn thing wasn't restricting him any more.

The ringing of the phone on the other end did nothing to help Dean's headache and he shut his eyes briefly, leaning back and stretching out his busted knee with a wince.

"_Hello?" _His father's voice sounded urgent, carefully controlled concern masked by a sharp tone.

"Dad," Dean said quietly, almost relieved, because even if the man was going to tear him a new one for this at least Dean could have someone to turn to. "It's me."

"Dean_," _John breathed, and the Winchester son could've sworn that his father's voice sounded like a great weight had lifted. Then, _"Christ, Dean, where the hell are you?!"_

Dean exhaled obviously. "Dad...we – _I _screwed up. Sam and I...we're at the hospital." Dean swallowed. "Sam's hurt. Bad, I think."

"_How?" _John said, worry once again making his voice angry.

"Shit happens," Dean couldn't help but respond, holding back a humorless laugh that would've fit the slightly desperate look in his eyes that John couldn't see. Though even if he_ could _see it was doubtful he would pay attention to.

"_Report, Dean," _came the pissed growl.

Dean rested his throbbing head against the top of the pay phone, shifting his weight further onto his favored leg in order to lessen the pain that was shooting from his knee. His father's voice was urgent in his ear.

"I screwed up, Dad," Dean repeated dully. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken Sammy with me-"

"_What happened, Dean?" _John cut in, and Dean could hear the sounds of things being thrown around and knew that his dad was getting ready to come to the hospital about half-an-hour from the motel that they'd been staying in.

"We went to a drag racing track, Dad," Dean said, then tried to force a grin. "Drag racing, huh? It's pretty cool, y'know..."

"_Dean," _John growled again and Dean nodded to himself.

"The guy we were racing...he was a total dick, Dad. We kicked his ass in the first race, and he didn't take it too well. Rammed the Impala-" Dean broke off suddenly, his already tight stomach clenching painfully as he recalled the state of his car when he'd left it. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten. His _car, _she'd been totaled. And Dean didn't even know if she was still there or if someone had decided to impound her. Oh, his dad was going to kill him. Salt and burn his bones.

He was _screwed._

"_Dean," _John was calling his name. _"Dean, are you two okay?"_

"I'm fine," Dean responded, trying to push away the ache of losing his baby and hurting his brother all in the space of one night. "Just bruised up. It's Sam, he...he's been in surgery for a while, Dad..." Dean took a deep breath. "He got nailed by a fence. I think it might be bad." Dean's voice wavered ever so slightly but John didn't bother to notice.

"_Why the hell," _John spoke through gritted teeth and Dean heard a car door slam, _"were you two fucking _drag racing_?" _

"We didn't mean-"

"_How long?" _John cut in, apparently deciding that he didn't want to hear Dean's excuses at the moment. The engine gunned in the background of John's side, and Dean took the chance to instinctively glance around the still-dark lot for any people, but it was deserted. No one around to see if he got murdered through the phone then.

"_How long have you been at the hospital, Dean?" _John elaborated.

Dean answered with a growing sense of dread. "I don't know," he admitted. "But...at least four hours."

He heard his father swear loudly and a distant thud. Dean winced.

"_Why the hell didn't you call sooner?!" _John shouted. _"Four hours, Dean!"_

"You were on a hunt," Dean tried. "I didn't think you'd be back-"

"_You thought you could fix it up and I would never know?"_

Dean flinched as though hit, slightly shocked that his father would think that. "No," he said seriously. "No, Dad, I couldn't find time-"

"_Save it, Dean," _John cut him off once again. _"You have a lot of explaining to do when I get there and you better hope your brother's okay."_

Dean bit his lip, hurt. Of course he wanted his brother to be okay, and it had nothing to do with saving his own ass. He'd known John would've needed anger as a channel for the worry and concern that he never liked showing. Knew that his father was only pissed because his children had been in danger.

But it still didn't change the fact that Dean was in deep shit when John got back.

* * *

**A/N: **I think it can be said that updating halfway through the night before Monday is not a good schedule. At all. I take too long to even send it to **agent iz hyper **to be properly analyzed and beta'd on time *sulks* I'll work on that.

Aww, Deano! Sorry this was sorta just a setting-the-scene type bit, so that I can get Johnny in next chapter! *pauses* Not that I'm particularly fond of him in this story *glares at bunnies* They just _insisted _that he be a jerk...and I don't like writing John as a jerk. It hurts my feels. *le sigh*

But review guys! Last time totally made my whole entire week and I'd _love_ it if y'all reviewed again ^.^ Lemme know if I should let up on the thinking, put in more angst, decide that this is a dumb idea, whatever! Speak, people :3 You make my life. *solemn nod*

Dodrizzle xD


	3. Come Looking

_**A/N: ***ridiculous grin* I love reviews. They're seriously things I don't think I'll get used to, ever :3 Which is why since I couldn't post last night, I worked my butt off on a Monday for this, guys xP_

_Disclaimer to add to the previous one – I don't pretend to be a total expert on all things hospital and injury-wise O.O I'm a highschooler, not a med student, people. I get all of my info from personal experience, random googling, or my dad who's a doctor. And yeah, asking your parent "So, where **exactly **would someone have to be stabbed in order to die?" does, in fact, bring some concerned looks... On that note, enjoy!_

* * *

**Flirting With Disaster**

* * *

_~ Come away little lad, come away to the darkness  
In the shade of the night we'll come looking for you ~_

* * *

**Chapter Three: Come Looking**

Dean had definitely inherited the Winchester stubbornness, as his nurses and doctor had discovered when they tried to argue with him at length about staying checked in to the hospital and in his bed. A nurse had forced him back into his room and hooked up to his IV the moment he had returned from his talk with his father, and a short while later his knee had been wrapped – he'd been correct about the cast, Dean had thought smugly – as had his ribs after being deemed bruised. His arm was still supposed to be in a sling, but the way Dean was eyeing it told them that he wasn't promising to keep to those rules.

After it all, Dean figured John would've been close by then, and argued that he didn't need to stay in his room any more. The point had finally been conceded that Dean was going to be in the building _anyway _because of his brother, and if anything happened – which it wouldn't – he'd be _there_, so what did it matter if he didn't want to stay in his damned hospital room?

So it was that Dean found himself facing off with a nurse, finally being able to escape and go see Sammy only to be stopped by a lady informing him of a new freakin' rule.

"What do you mean I can't fuckin' _see him?!" _Dean protested furiously.

She frowned at him sternly but sympathetically. "Please keep your voice down-"

"No," Dean snapped irritably, still louder than necessary. "That's my _brother _you're keeping me from. I'm not a minor, lady."

"I'm sorry," the nurse emphasized, and she did look it. "But we've decided to wait for your father before we do anything else-"

"What has that got to do with me seeing him?" Dean interrupted loudly once again, glaring at the young nurse in front of him, her name tag flashing 'Jen' at him.

"I was getting to that," she said calmly, and Dean was briefly surprised before his annoyance came back. "Sam is still a minor under legal authority of you boys' father, and considering his condition we don't want to do anything to hinder his recovery." She spoke fast, as though trying to get everything out before Dean flipped on her again.

"Seeing me won't _'hinder his recovery.'" _This time the words came out as a low growl and Dean was slightly satisfied to see the nurse start to look more wary. But dammit, there was no way that Sam seeing his _big brother _would make anything _worse_.

He was Dean. He was who was always there for Sam, _every single time. _And these goddamn hospitals with all their rules and refusal to understand and just plain idiocy sometimes were making Dean itch to bundle his injured brother in the Impala and get the hell out of Dodge.

And maybe he would, Dean thought while assessing the nurse angrily, if these people kept trying to keep the brothers separated.

Jen sighed. "I'm sure it won't," she said, sounding understanding. "But there's nothing I can do about it."

Dean opened his mouth to lash out at the injustice of the situation some more, when he noticed her gaze move to over his shoulder and blink in surprise.

Dean turned, hearing the ding of the elevator before recognizing the determined man walking into the floor's waiting room.

John Winchester made a foreboding sight for passer-bys, in this case the nurse. An army man, with purposeful steps and a somewhat hidden suspicious look in his eyes for near everything and everyone. He spotted his son and the nurse and strode towards them, eyes narrowing and mouth set in that way that told anyone who knew him that this was a man with a purpose.

It gave Dean a newfound sense of comfort, having that familiarity – however gruff and however currently pissed – near him. He turned back to the nurse, still scowling but with a touch of smugness.

"He's here, can we see him now?" he said curtly.

Before she could respond John reached them, grazing over her with a glance to look at Dean, who looked briefly relieved but didn't quite meet his dad's gaze.

"You must be Sam's father," she addressed John, who nodded, unnervingly steady. She swallowed reflexively at the straightforward but hidden brown eyes he held her gaze with.

"When can I see my son?" Dean's eyes narrowed along with his father's at the question, still miffed at not being allowed access to Sam.

The nurse looked a little taken aback at having two Winchester glares aimed at her. Nervous under their stare, she felt immensely relieved to be able to offer them some good news.

"Soon," Jen said hurriedly. "We were just waiting for you to get here, sir." Before he could ask how he was she continued, "Sam has sustained a injury to his abdomen, which a surgery that occurred when he first arrived was able to lessen in severity. Still, we have to wait and see how his body holds up with the internal stitching. He also has a concussion. Doesn't seem too bad, but we have to see how he is once he wakes up." She gestured briefly to Dean next. "As for your other son..."

"I'm fine," Dean cut off her quickly. "Sam's more important."

The nurse hesitated, glancing between the two men, wanting to push the issue.

John changed her decision, saying firmly, "Let us see Sam," in a voice she didn't think she should argue with. Jen managed a nod, turning quickly to lead the two men to their third family member.

* * *

The sharp intake of breath from Dean mingling with the beeping from a heart monitor were the only sounds when the two Winchesters stepped into the hospital room that held Sam.

The teen was unconscious, breathing rasping through the oxygen mask fixed on his bruised face and with his head heavily bandaged. The IV dripped steadily, feeding him painkillers that helped keep him unconscious for the night.

Dean moved to one side of Sam's bed immediately, hovering in his concerned way that, if Sam were awake to see, would certainly earn him the mother-hen title. But that was Dean, and John had to admit as he studied both his sons that there was no better person for the job. Not even him.

Stepping to the side of the bed opposite of Dean's, John briefly brushed Sammy's bangs back from his bandaged forehead before lifting his gaze to his other son.

The kid looked beat, the sleeplessness and stress of the night before catching up to him along with the certainly-painful injuries he carried. But Dean wouldn't say anything, they both knew, would suffer quietly because he adamantly believed Sam needed the attention more. John's anger still hadn't ebbed completely, but it was clear that Dean was already beating himself over this. The elder son was subtly avoiding his father's gaze, glumly wondering when the explosion was going to come.

John finally cleared his throat, and Dean's gaze flickered upward briefly from the opposite side of the bed where he was standing. John fixed him with a narrow gaze.

"You both could have died last night, Dean," he said bluntly.

Dean winced a little. "I know, Dad," he admitted. "It was dumb-"

"Then why did you do it?" John interrupted.

Dean couldn't help but protest, "It was just _driving_! We were tryna have fun, Dad, I didn't think...I didn't know..." He glanced helplessly over to the prone form of his brother, swallowing reflexively.

"I tried to look out for him," he finished finally.

"But you didn't," John snapped automatically, even as he felt the nagging thought at the back of his mind for the hypocritical comment.

"No, sir," Dean agreed, finally meeting his father's gaze head on, apology on his features.

John studied his son for a moment. "Where's the car, Dean?"

Dean swore his heart stuttered for several seconds. He abruptly slid his gaze from his father's, glancing around the room nervously. "The car?" he repeated.

"Dean," John just growled, fists clenching.

Dean swallowed hard. "She...um," he faltered. "I don't know, sir," he finally forced out. His father's eyebrows came down in a suspicious glare aimed directly at Dean. "After the crash...we got in the ambulance, Dad, and the Impala..." He tried a different route. "She was pretty bad off."

"We can fix her," John said slowly, still eyeing Dean, knowing there was something else.

Dean shifted. "That's the thing...I don't know...she might still be there, Dad, but the place was pretty shady and...and I sort of lost track of her."

_I couldn't take care of the damn car either._

"'Lost track,'" John repeated coldly.

"Yes, sir."

"I gave you the Impala 'cause I thought you deserved her, Dean."

That stung. Dean just nodded, not sure what to say when his father was so obviously disappointed and he had screwed up a million times over in less than twelve hours.

John's eyes narrowed. "Can't hear your head rattle, son."

"Yes, sir," Dean said, eyes on the space next to Sam's head.

He wasn't sure if John would say anything else, but either his father was pissed and didn't want to make a scene in the hospital room or he just couldn't deal with Dean any more. The thoughts made the nineteen-year-old sigh inaudibly, trying to focus on Sammy instead.

There was a long silence, and Dean had dropped into the chair on his side of the bed with Sammy's hand in his while John lightly ran his fingers over his youngest hair every now and then in the tense silence.

Finally, John seemed to have ordered his thoughts and stepped back from the bed, letting out a sigh.

"You need some sleep, Dean," John spoke gruffly, staring at his son with an unreadable expression while Dean continued to monitor Sammy.

Dean glanced up at his father with an almost vulnerable look, one that he would never show anyone else. He wasn't sure where the two of them stood right then.

"I will, Dad," he responded hesitantly. "Just...just later. I need to stay with Sammy."

John sighed at his son in exasperation before grunting, apparently realizing that the energy it would take to force Dean to sleep wasn't worth it. With a final lingering look at Sam, John walked out of the room.

Dean didn't ask where he was going; John wouldn't tell him anyway.

Settling back into the hard chair as comfortably as he could, which really wasn't saying anything, Dean gave his brother's hand a brief squeeze, sighing into the otherwise empty room.

He found himself repeating the words he'd begged back at the track, biting his lip to hold back an overwhelming guilt.

"Wake up, Sammy..."

* * *

Smoke rings floated steadily through the night sky for a few beats before turning to simple wisps of polluted air, and the man with the cigarette took another drag of nicotine. He leaned against a black monster truck that blended into the night, one hand shoved in his pocket next to a bandana.

His mind was on two teens that he'd raced the other night. The thought of the events made the mouth on the cigarette upturn into a smirk, relishing the feeling of wiping the smug look on the two kids' faces.

The older kid's furious look had been a little surprising, he had to admit. He could've sworn the younger man was going to pull out a gun or something.

That is, if the other one hadn't gotten himself entangled in a goddamn fence, he thought with a soft snort.

_He deserved it anyway, cocky little prick._

The man figured he was safe, anyhow.

They were just two kids, probably with a screwed up family, bargaining for more than the intended adrenaline rush by coming to the drag racing track.

They couldn't do anything to him.

With a final smirk, he flicked his cigarette butt onto the gravel, not bothering to extinguish the still glowing dregs as he climbed into his truck. The engine revved loudly in the silent night, carrying the man away.

* * *

**A/N: **O.O That was long. *nods* And really hard to write. *pokes Johnny with narrowed eyes* He's so freakin' bipolar on me! What the hell!

*clears throat importantly* I'd also like to dedicate this chapter to a certain **Mrs. GaleHawthorne **as an epic present since yesterday (cuz when I tried to post this _last_ night at 1 am it was a piece of shit chapter) was her birthday! And it was also Misha's son's birthday which is fracking _awesome_! And...I'm sorry we screwed up your bowling Rills :3 *borrows Sammy puppy dog eyes* Fowgive me?

Review! I love reviews! They are serious motivation for updating and possibly the reason I get through the school week *serious look* *turns puppy dog look on you people*

See ya next week!~  
Dodo out.


	4. The Enemy

**Flirting With Disaster**

* * *

_~ Now take my hand and we will run away  
Down to this place that I know  
How did this night become the enemy? _

* * *

**Chapter Four: The Enemy**

Sam's eyes flew open with a slight gasp, then immediately closed as his vision was assaulted by incredibly bright lights. He groaned as the darkness under his eyelids filled with spots from his sensitive state.

"Aw, shit Sammy, here," came a voice from his right. There was shuffling, then the voice of his brother sounded closer. "Now try."

Hesitantly this time, Sam blinked open his eyes, still squinting in the now dimmer room. _Hospital_, his mind told him, with no little amount of dismay. Dislike of hospitals did run in the family.

"Welcome to the land of the living," Dean joked, hovering like a paranoid mother over Sam's head. The younger teen raised his hand rudely and Dean snickered.

Sam sighed heavily. "I feel. Like shit," he said dully.

Dean nodded, sitting back down on his chair. "Yeah, figured. Impaled in a _fence_, man, you scared the shit out of me."

Sam glanced over at his brother. "What about you? You okay?" he asked.

Dean offered a crooked grin. "Compared to you? I'm awesome." Dean shifted. "Besides my fucked up shoulder and friggin' knee," he muttered, looking annoyed at the disability, however slight, that the injuries provided him.

Sam hesitated. "Is Dad here?"

"Yeah." Dean whistled low. "Pretty pissed that first night."

"First night?" Sam asked, slightly alarmed. "How long was I asleep?"

Dean looked down at him. "Relax, it's probably the afternoon or something. We went to the track last night."

"Where is he anyway?" Sam asked next, leaning back to rest his heavy head onto the pillows.

Dean smirked and joked, "Yeah, 'cause you're wondering why he's not glued to your hospital bed taking care of your girly needs."

Sam turned his head slightly to scowl at his brother. "They're not _girly_, Dean, I mean I'm sure peeing is unisex-"

"Peeing is _unisex_?" Dean repeated, grinning. "You're such a geek."

"Jerk."

"Bitch. Besides," Dean continued then as though nothing had happened, "that's the not the girly thing I was talkin' about. If you seriously think Dad's gonna hold your hand, kiddo, where've you been our whole life?"

Sam frowned for a moment, then suddenly changed his features and widened his eyes to look at Dean. "Will _you_, Dean? Please?"

Sam had to burst out laughing at the incredulous look on Dean's face. The older brother would never admit it, but he would've given a limb if Sam had looked at him like that in his chubby toddler years. Sam felt his side flare slightly in protest of his shaking ribs, but he quickly tried to hide it.

"Uh, no dude, you're fine," Dean scoffed with a casualness he didn't feel. There was no need to remind him just how close Sam had come, or that the kid could barely even move without the painkillers he was dosed up on.

Dean narrowed his eyes and Sam then, noticing the way the kid shifted subtly as his laughter died down.

"Meds wearing off?"

"No," Sam lied automatically. Dean nodded to himself.

"That's a yes then." He reached to press the call button on Sam's bed when suddenly the door to their room opened, revealing John Winchester himself.

Sam blinked up at the man as he neared the bed, offering a half-smile. John pushed some hair away from his bandaged forehead and assessed his youngest son critically.

"Drag racing," John finally groused, glancing up at his eldest though Dean dropped his gaze, uncomfortable. "You two..."

Sam flashed a rare grin at his father then. "Pretty kickass, huh Dad?"

"Kicked your ass, if that's what you mean," John retorted, narrowing his eyes.

Sam shrugged it off. "It's just a scratch, Dad, I'll be fine."

"Don't think your head's gonna be the same though," Dean cut in, grinning. "Might've knocked some more screws loose."

"Shut up, Dean. Just 'cause you were born dumb."

"Hey-"

"Boys," John intervened. He turned to his eldest, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a familiar flash of silver.

Dean's eyes widened, a hugely relieved look overtaking his face. "_Baby_," he breathed, staring at the keys to the Impala. "Dad, you...how..."

John shrugged. "Tracking's part of the job, son," he said cryptically. "_But_," he added as Dean reached a hand forward. "I'm keeping these."

The crestfallen look on Dean's face tugged at John slightly, but he didn't relent. Dean sighed, looking as though he wanted to protest, but John moved on with the next piece of information he'd found.

"There was sulfur, Dean," John said, glancing briefly between his two sons. "It was just a trace, but it was there."

Dean looked at his father in confusion. "Dad, the Impala's engine was fine before...the accident," he said, the first thought that came to him right then with his car and a sulfuric smell.

John shook his head. "I know, Dean, that's why I'm thinkin' maybe it was something else."

"Supernatural, you mean?" Dean asked, and off to the side Sam groaned almost inaudibly.

"When we stopped here," John started slowly, "there were some demonic signs. They could've been nothing," John defended before either of them could say something. "But with this I'm not so sure."

"Demonic signs?" Dean asked at the same time Sam's temper flared and he snapped, "Not everything has to do with your stupid hunts, Dad!"

John cut his eyes to glare at his youngest, though Sam just scowled right back. He was in the freakin' hospital from a _car accident _and his dad _still _had to bring his supernatural crusade into it.

Dean eyed his father closely, wondering if the man wasn't letting them in on everything, and it wouldn't have been the first time. It didn't explain why he was so sure it was a demon, as Sam was oh-so-helpfully pointing out.

"I have my sources, boys, and it seems likely."

"So what, Dad, why the hell would a demon possess a random truck driver?"

Dean winced, painfully aware of Sam's inability to argue civilly with their father.

"I don't _know, _Sam, that's what we need to find out," John spoke through slightly clenched teeth.

Sam just rolled his eyes. "We don't need to find out anything, Dad, it was an _accident_. Y'know, those happen sometimes too."

"Coincidences are rare, Sam," John started, sounding just as pissy as his son. "Especially for us."

"That's bullshit, Dad, you just need an excuse to feed your freakin' hunting addiction!" Sam fumed, instinctively sitting up straight to be more defensive and in the process stretching his side hard and letting out a stifled cry.

Dean moved immediately, pushing his brother down gently but firmly by the shoulders, keeping an arm across his chest as Sam gritted his teeth and breathed.

John watched the two of them with an unreadable look, getting to his feet. "Hunter instinct shouldn't be ignored, Sam, and you're just gonna have to deal with mine. Understand?"

Sam looked over his brother's restraining arm, aiming a glare at the eldest Winchester, not saying anything as John just sighed and left the room.

* * *

John was sure that the one thing all hospitals had in common was their crappy coffee. It was as though the liquid was made to shock the drinker into alertness with its overpoweringly bitter yet cardboard-y taste.

The eldest Winchester eyed the drink, passing a hand over his face as he took the chance to mull over the information he'd managed to put together over the past several hours.

A demon...John knew his sons thought his claim was ridiculous, unable to understand how a single demon would just _happen _to be at the exact same place as the brother, just _coincidentally _being in the perfect position to nearly kill a hunter's kids.

Which was why John knew it wasn't just coincidence.

He knew it was a demon, and how wasn't important to anyone except himself at the moment. He'd had the suspicion when they'd first stopped in this town, but in a move he greatly regretted now he'd just brushed off the obvious signs.

John swore he'd fix that mistake now.

His hand went to his jeans pocket, fingering the key there and feeling himself tense as he remembered the absolutely wrecked condition in which he'd found the car that had been so precious to him.

Though then John had to smirk as he recalled the shocked look on the faces of the two men attempting to maneuver the Impala right side up - no doubt to fix her up for themselves – when the eldest Winchester had shown up and flashed his fake badge at them. The gun helped the effect too, and it didn't take long to get the men to tow the car to a garage and hand over the keys. A quick phone call to Bobby Singer, and John knew the Impala would be well taken care of.

Dean would have to help fix her, of course, and then maybe, _maybe _John would think about giving his eldest back the car.

Speaking of Dean...

John frowned as a sixth sense nagged at the back of his mind. Almost automatically, he moved out of the first floor corridor where the coffee machines were to enter the main waiting room. It was deserted, but he only had to turn until the glass doors were in his view to see what had caught his thoughts.

There, in front of the hospital on the harsh concrete, lay Dean, struggling to fight off a man that was twice his size. The Winchester son looked furious, throwing punches for all he was worth. But the other man, a bandana wrapped around his head, was bigger and used his bulk to pin the kid down.

As John strode forward, Dean managed to wriggle out from other man and knock a solid right hook, both to John's pride and alarm, knowing it had to be a bitch on the kid's shoulder. The other man's eyes narrowed dangerously, and John could've sworn his eyes flashed a different color...

"_DEAN_!" John finally thundered, shouldering his way forcefully to in front of his son and grabbing the kid by the front of his collar. Jerking him backwards, John held him tightly and Dean was almost on the tips of his toes, breathing hard but with slight difficulty because of the choking hold and throbbing shoulder.

The man on the ground took the opportunity to flee, rounding the hospital corner within milliseconds and causing Dean to start struggling against his father in fury.

John simply tightened his grip, moving so he was making direct eye contact with his son. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he growled, fist shaking.

"That's him," Dean forced out, still trying to find purchase on the cement walk. "That's the guy who rammed us Dad, lemme go!"

John's eyes darkened visibly as his gaze flicked to where the guy had run. His jaw clenched as he appeared to be working through a thought process that Dean felt that they really had no time for. The dickhead was getting away and his dad was just standing there.

"Let _go," _Dean demanded again, but when John's gaze zeroed in on him the teen quickly grated on a "_sir_."

Finally, John shook his head unclenching his fist from Dean's shirt. "That could've been a demon, Dean."

"How do you know it was also a demon, now or when he almost killed us?" Dean argued vehemently, leaning slightly to one side in order to take some of the weight off his newly strained knee. John just shook his head again.

"I don't, but if it was then you would only be hurting the body."

"And if it wasn't?" Dean snapped, having that feeling that was so rare to him but like second nature to Sam. That their dad was too preoccupied on the _hunt _aspect of life to see clearly that the _asshole who put Sammy in the hospital _had just slipped out of their grasp.

John didn't answer for a moment, then said calmly, "I'll take care of it, Dean. Your job is to watch out for Sammy."

"My job is also to hunt, Dad!"

"_No_, Dean, that's an order. Stay out of this one."

Dean stared at his father, uncomprehending. He narrowed his gaze, studying the man and trying to grasp the reason for his father's actions. For once though, he couldn't think of anything. "What do you know, Dad?"

"Last time, Dean. Stay out of it."

Dean crossed his arms. "I can't _stay out of it_, Dad, he nearly killed me and Sam! He totaled the Impala!"

"We don't know that was really him," John repeated, dropping his voice in warning that Dean should have already backed off on this.

"So _what?_" Dean shouted, and John took a quick step forward.

"_So, _no matter how pissed you are at that face, you don't know what's going on behind it and you sure as hell aren't going to attack an innocent man."

"I highly doubt he's completely innocent anyway," Dean muttered back, but his gaze had dropped to glare at the ground. His dad didn't understand the look Dean'd saw on the man's face, didn't feel the same rush of pure anger when he spotted the person responsible for Sam's condition trying to get into the hospital for who knew what reason. And his father's thoughts didn't make any sense to him at this point, and John wasn't being any more forthcoming.

Whether they were still on the trust issue, or John knew something about this particular demon – and Dean really didn't see how – still didn't beat revenge on Dean's list, though.

"Take a walk Ace," John said, looking at Dean seriously. "Calm down."

_I wouldn't have to walk if you'd give me my car back, _Dean thought a little resentfully, but outwardly he just sighed out a "Yes, sir."

But less than a minute later, John returned inside the hospital, leaving Dean hesitating after several steps.

Dean glanced at the corner that Bandana-guy had disappeared around with a slightly raised eyebrow. He flexed his knee, testing out his limits while he made a decision.

A moment later, Dean took off in the same direction of the truck driver, his father's warning stowed at the back of his mind.

* * *

**A/N:** I...I lied. Three or four chapters? Yeah, right. *waves* Y'all are stuck with me for more than that :P *prods bunnies with stick* They're multiplying like crayzee!

*pokes izzy* Finally managed to send a chapter to mah beta and ego-enlarger **agent iz hyper**! And I promise, people, I'll pick up the action and leave behind the boring plot development shit next chapter *nods seriously* It's getting there.

Guy. Guys _two more days. Two. This __**Wednesday is Supernatural season 8 holy shit.  
**_Yeah, we all have permission to SPAZ. *hyper bouncing*

*pokes you guys* Show your excitement in a review :)

xx~  
Dodo


	5. Chase You Down

**Flirting With Disaster**

* * *

_~ I tried to climb your steps, I tried to chase you down  
I tried to see how low I could get down to the ground ~_

* * *

**Chapter Five: Chase You Down**

John Winchester turned away from the nurse's station on his son's floor with a sense of relief. There was the dealing with civilians part of his job done.

The nurse's concerned, "Sir, there could still be complications" had been met with calm reassurances of _I'll be nearby_ and _He's a tough kid._

Words that would surely have Sam bristling and ignite his increasingly flammable temper.

Sam was still pissed at him for leaving (_"Whatever, you always leave") _and the only thing that made John slightly less aggravated was that Dean was in hot water with the kid too for not being back from his "walk" by now. John wasn't sure what the teen was doing, but he was confident that Dean would follow his orders and take care of himself, not the drag racer.

That was John's job.

The Winchester patriarch thought about the information he'd received from Bobby before taking up the hunt not far from here, although knowing the signs that could be well interpreted as demonic.

"_You have enemies, John," Singer had said. "You know that."_

John had blown off the advice, something he'd known would get him in trouble even at the time. But his thrill for the hunt had taken over, as he had to say it often did, and the curiosity of hunting something new overrode his misgivings about having more than one supernatural threat in the same place.

And while he was focusing on one, the other had pounced, as Bobby had warned. John had a habit of pissing people and supernatural things off, he consented, and in the decade since he'd taken to hunting on his own he was sure there was quite the line of beings wanting revenge.

And during the first time in awhile that his sons decided to be normal teenagers, John learned his lesson.

He knew telling Sam would just make the kid resent him more, and John hated himself for being too cowardly to admit his mistake to his eldest. His compensation would be not being too hard on the kid once the demon was well and gone.

Sometimes John had to admit to himself that he needed someone to hold him accountable for things when he went and FUBAR'ed everything.

At least he would make sure Dean and Sam didn't make the same mistakes he was. Hammering his lessons home – however much of a hardass he had to be to do it – would keep them safe.

He was sure of it.

* * *

By the time the man stopped, Dean was panting slightly from the ache in his ribs and the protest of his knee.

Limping forward a few more steps so he could have a clearer view, Dean watched as the guy entered a warehouse. The door slid shut strongly, and Dean saw the rusted lock as he moved to it. He discarded the thought of picking it, knowing it would be better if he scouted out the place discreetly first. A jogged circle around the building showed no back door.

Window, he thought to himself and glanced around to see any that he would be able to enter through. A few dumpsters stood against one side of the warehouse, and a few feet up from them was a broken window, the plastic covering on it flapping in the slight breeze.

Dean looked from the dumpster to the window, then back again, scoffing slightly.

Piece of cake.

He placed both hands on the top edge of one dumpster, ignoring the Sammy-like thought that this was probably extremely unsanitary. Gritting his teeth against the expected protest in his shoulder, he vaulted himself high enough to swing a leg over the side, now straddling the side of the dumpster.

Hissing and cursing under his breath, Dean continued onto his feet, standing precariously on the edge of a dumpster and couldn't help the thrill of the current hunt, as he always felt.

Dean reached for the ledge of the window, running his fingers along it for purchase. With as strong as a grip he could get with just his fingers, Dean pushed himself up, leaning forward dropping cleanly onto the floor with a quick flip.

Dean couldn't help the smug grin that lit up his face at what he had just done.

"Someone so should've seen that," he muttered to himself, brushing of his jeans and moving forward with a shrug, deciding he could tell Sam all about it later.

The floorboards under his feet felt too unsteady for his liking, but Dean tread lightly and they kept from creaking. He glanced around the small room, the only one on this floor with a highly unstable looking flight of stairs going through the center of the floor.

Dean walked towards them, crouching down and trying to peer through the musty gloom but seeing nothing but dim lights. A voice in his head that sounded like his father told him that he shouldn't risk it, not knowing how many people were in the building or even where the truck driver was now.

After a few indecisive moments, Dean – true and tried in his nature – discarded his good judgement and made his way down the stairs.

The floor was much larger now, big enough so that Dean couldn't see past the shadows cast into corners and if there were any turns through the walls.

As if that wasn't enough reason for him to get out of there, boxes marked with strange symbols and runes lined the words, and Dean gravitated towards them curiously.

A cold sense of foreboding drifted on him a second later and Dean froze, knowing from years of experience and his father's driven lessons to never ignore a hunter instinct. His strained his ears for any noise, standing half hidden by shadows, when the silence was broken.

"Hey, kid," came a familiar voice from behind him, and Dean whirled around, hand immediately going inside his jacket for his gun.

Before he could even aim, he was lifted off the ground and flung into the opposite wall, breath whooshing out of him and the gun clattering several feet away in the dim room.

Out of the shadows came Bandana-guy, leather jacket and twisted smirk and all, the only difference from the time of the race to now being his deadly black eyes.

He tilted his head to the side as Dean gained his breath back and lifted his head to glare. The demon's face twisted as though smelling something particularly unpleasant.

"Winchester," he growled, and Dean couldn't offer a smartass remark before the demon flicked his wrist and the teen was once again flying through the air and crashing amongst one pile of cardboard boxes. A few were crushed under his weight and others toppled over, objects escaping, but Dean didn't have time to get a good look at them.

"I'm going to enjoy this," Dean heard the demon say, and then a cold hand grabbed his collar in a choking grip.

_Well, fuck._

* * *

Sam glared at the ceiling moodily.

_This sucks._

And that about summed it up.

Yeah, he'd told Dean that he didn't have girly needs like needing his hand held. But that sure as hell didn't mean that his father and brother could just _leave _without any warning.

Just "Gotta do some shit, Sam." "Don't bleed out, Sam." "Know you've got a fucking hole in your stomach, Sam, but suck it up."

Well, screw that.

Sam blew out a loud, huffing breath that would've had his father bristling. He turned his head to one side, then the next, moving his gaze around the room while his mind whirred.

He didn't really need to stay here, right? It wasn't as though he was really in critical condition, Sam mused. Besides, he could recall lots of times when his dad made them bounce from a hospital before their recovery period was up, be it because of insurance or his insistence to get back on the road.

And if Dad could do it, he could do it, Sam smirked.

Sam sucked in a steadying breath, then slowly inched himself to an upright sitting position, then swinging his legs over the side as he blew out the air in his mouth. When no shots of crippling pain ran through him, he grinned confidently.

Pain killers were sweet.

He assumed that the ones that were dripping from his IV weren't the kind to have side effects that would make him go loopy, something which Dean would never let him live down and would also make this mission a whole lot harder. All the same, he knew he should bring some along with him, considering it wouldn't be pretty badass if he came in to help his father and brother with the demon and he collapsed like a girl.

His gaze landed on the duffle bag his dad had brought in earlier next to the bed and he reached for it with the hand that didn't have the IV needle in. He rifled through it for his clothes and also pulled out a brown paper bag. With a grin, Sam realized it was full of meds, the regular prescription-free Asprin and even some opioid painkiller shit.

Yeah, his dad was definitely planning on getting the hell out of Dodge as soon as possible. While at another time Sam would be resentful, right now he couldn't have been more grateful that the old man had thought ahead to drugging his kid.

Putting the bag to the side, Sam gripped the needle in the back of his hand, gritting his teeth once more and yanking the tape off and needle out in a clean jerk that he'd seen his dad do to himself and Dean many times.

"_Ow_," he muttered, blinking back reflex tears at the sting and glad he didn't have to be subject to his dad's suck-it-up look at that moment.

Keeping one eye on the door, Sam untied his hospital gown and pulled on his shirt and jeans, mindful of his stitches. Shrugging on his jacket, he stuffed the brown bag in his pocket, checked that the coast was clear in the hallway, and made his way purposefully to the elevators.

He was getting out of here.

* * *

**A/N:** You go, Sammy xD

Real fast: I'mso sorry for the latest update yet but life's a bitch and I swear it won't happen again because I'm back on schedule, even earlier considering it's afternoon instead of the middle of the night! Next chappie will be Deano kicking ass and getting his ass kicked and let's-save-the-day-while-drugged Sammy! xD

Also, I'd like to thank a guest review for giving me some really, really appreciated advice on improving *is uber grateful* Concrit is so incredibly welcome guys, I love it possibly more than just compliments (although those make my head large and hey, not complaining about that feeling). _And tackle glomps for all your reviews!_

This Supernatural season is seriously awesome and spaz-worthy *hyper bouncing* The review box is here for feel 'splosions *solemn nod* Ooh and guess what? :3 My birthday is tomorrow! :D And waking up to your reviews would so incredibly make my day; I love them! *heart* Thank you for reading!

~Dodo


	6. The Beast Inside

_Refreshing your memory: John's going after the demon that hurt Sam, but Dean's already there and about to get his ass kicked, while Sam's fed up with being left behind and has put into action The Great Hospital Breakout. With drugs. _

* * *

**Flirting With Disaster**

* * *

_~ I want to hide the truth, I want to shelter you  
But with the beast inside, there's nowhere we can hide~_

* * *

**Chapter Six: The Beast Inside  
**

Sam didn't think he'd have had any luck following his brother or father had it not been for the fact that his dad almost ran him over when he started across the parking lot.

In hindsight, he supposed that maybe he should have waited at least a few seconds to make sure his father had left to avoid getting caught before he had even left the freaking property.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" John Winchester's shocked bellow mingled with the slam of the truck's door as he moved quickly towards his wayward son. Sam swore the noise gave a few nearby pigeons heart attacks.

As for the teenager himself, he quickly settled on a righteous and indignant platform, scowling at his father's anger and concern stubbornly. John seemed to grapple with himself for a moment, as though trying to decide whether to yell some more or get his son back to his hospital bed.

"Alright, kid, inside," he finally said sternly, reaching for Sam's arm.

The teen stepped backwards quickly. "No way, Dad, I'm coming with you."

"Hell no, you're not. You're injured, Sam!"

"I'm _fine_," Sam snapped. "What do you care, you've made us hunt injured before."

"Don't, Sam," John said seriously. "I can handle this, there's no reason for you to be in danger right now."

"I can take care of myself. Besides, you and Dean will be there!" Sam wondered that he sounded something like a whiny child, but damn if he was going to let himself be left behind again.

But John's brow had furrowed. "Dean? Dean's not coming either, Sam."

Sam narrowed his eyes, a little suspicious. "What do you mean? Where is he then?" John paused before giving his immediate answer; Dean should have been back from his walk by now. Sam scoffed at his father's silence. "Wow, Dad, you're completely handling things. Looks like your perfect soldier had a rebel moment."

"He does that when it comes to you," John muttered to himself low, not sure if his pride outweighed the exasperation with his eldest. "I'll worry about Dean," he said louder, pinning Sam's gaze sternly. "I mean it Sam, let's get inside."

"_No_, Dad, you're not leaving me again. I'm a part of this too."

John resisted the urge to punch something in frustration at his youngest's pure stubbornness. He though quickly, coming to the unhappy conclusion that he didn't think there was time to be waster forcing Sam back to his hospital room, considering if Dean really had gone up against the demon alone the fugly might kick Dean's ass before his father could.

Pissed, John cursed. "Dammit, Sam." Running a hand down his face, he snapped, "Fine. But you are _staying in the car, _understand? Or so help me Sam..."

Sam nodded quickly, figuring that if worst came to worst his father's order could be disregarded, at least in his books. At the moment though, he had the sense not to push the man any further.

The bag of medication felt heavy against Sam's chest, tucked inside his jacket and John hadn't noticed them yet. Sam wasn't sure if his dad would take them away from him or not but he figured it was unnecessary to mention it now.

John looked his son up and down. "You okay?" he said finally, though already turning back to get into his truck.

"Yeah," Sam said, letting out a quiet breath of relief that his plan was working as he went around to shotgun and giving a thumbs up. "Meds rule."

* * *

It didn't take long for John to stutter to stop in his set goal to kick the demon's ass all the way back to hell once he found it.

Because when said demon had his son a hair's breadth away from getting his throat crushed, John didn't think there was much ass kicking he could do. Yet.

It hadn't taken John long to find the demon, hell he hadn't even needed his truck when he thought about it, the thing had found itself a place practically right around the corner from the hospital. Keeping an eye on its handy-work, no doubt, John had thought to himself bitterly. He hadn't been certain of where the fugly was, but from the knowledge about the hints of a demon he'd had before he stupidly left for the hunt anyway John had a hunch.

Sam, of course, hadn't accepted the brief "gut feeling" explanation that John had given him, but hadn't gotten any time to protest before John called out the order to _stay put _and started his way inside.

But he'd been right, John acknowledged as he glowered at the bulky leather clad man the demon was possessing, taking in the outstretched arm that was aimed towards his eldest son. Dean was struggling to get up from a pile of overturned boxes, but the moment he was on his feet he was flung against the wall and his hands went to his throat, gasping for breath.

"Dean!" John called out and was torn between moving to intercept and risk his son getting hurt or staying put.

The demon decided for him, dropping his hand so Dean fell again and gulped in air, trying to recover quickly. John's eyes had narrowed further, his eyes darkening so they could have been as black as the demon's.

"What do you want?" he growled low, a flask of holy water in one hand while the other aimed a pistol that he knew would be useless. He needed to trap the thing and exorcise it. And soon.

"You to leave," the demon growled. "Leave, and know that you couldn't save your son. Both of them should never have made it out of that car, but I'm fixing that."

As the words left his mouth the demon moved with seeming inhuman speed toward Dean, who had managed to stagger to his feet with his teeth gritted against the flaring pain in his wounded arm.

John moved just as fast, but it was a second after Dean was flung back into the wall and fell unmoving to the ground that the holy water doused the demons face.

The demon yelled in rage and pain as the holy water burned its face, and John rushed to stand in front of Dean who was breathing shallowly on the ground. John fought the instinct to check if he was alright, instead turning his attention to anything that could help him against this demon.

Seeing nothing, he fixed his piercing gaze on the monster, starting the beginning words of the exorcism and finding himself doing nothing more than hoping it would work in time.

"_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus__..."_

* * *

Sam glared out the truck's windshield at the warehouse, as though the pure irritation of his gaze would somehow let him see what was going on inside.

He shifted restlessly in his seat after a few minutes, feeling a twinge in his side as he did. Frowning, Sam's attention turned to his wound instead, and he lightly pressed a hand against it. The stitches throbbed suddenly and Sam gasped, his other hand automatically reaching for the bag of pills.

He was breathing a little heavier, feeling slightly sick. Sam huffed a little which turned into a groan at the sudden crash of the pain-free high the painkillers had given him. He glanced around the area quickly, then grasped the door handle and clumsily got out of the car, one hand still on his side.

An involuntary sharp gasp of pain after he tried to straighten told him whether he should take the pills now. Shaking out a few bottles from the bag, he read the labels a little uncertainly.

_Fever, infection...pain reliever. _He lifted the last of the small bottles closer to read the small print, taking in the instruction that the pills should be taken before rest, and side effects include dizziness, fatigue, euphoria...

Sam's train of thought stopped abruptly as his ears pricked up and he swore he'd heard a crash come from inside. Sam shook out a few pills and dry swallowed them, face scrunching up uncomfortably. He tossed the paper bag back into the truck, then pulled out a handgun from the dashboard compartment, checking it efficiently.

The pain killers were slow to kick in, but Sam made his way to the rickety door of the building anyway, fully set on fighting beside his father and brother.

Even if he was drugged.

* * *

**A/N**: Er...hi... Happy Winter? *blinks innocently* Okay, I do apologize, really. Another proof that I need to have everything written out before posting anything... Promise you won't have to wait on me any more because next chapter will most likely be the last. And there's the special addition of drugged!Sammy for **agent iz hyper** ;)

Cookies to her, by the way, for getting this back to me even though she's off enjoying her fancy summer break :P Thanks, man, for ah, getting rid of my insecurities about this chapter. And thanks to her I have an idea for the next one too, so yay!

M&M's to all of you for sticking with? :3 Your reviews are amazing, _thank you_.

~Dodo


End file.
